Just Had to Get Some Notebook Paper

It  was a beautiful spring day.  We had a spring shower that afternoon. I was in the fifth grade. I had a corrective cast put on my right leg to stretch the Achilles Tendon.  It was normally two inches shorter than my left leg. I had a gross limp that was not easily hidden. wearing a cast for about two months out of the year was not easy. I endured lots of taunting from my peers. I plodded along trying not to show how hurt I was.

Since it rained, I had to be careful not to step in puddles as not to get the bottom of my cast wet. It was made of plaster and not like the new fangled waterproof ones they have now.  I wanted to get my home-work done early so, I could a free weekend.  One of my brothers had some notebook paper and I could find his stash.

Mama was cooking dinner and couldn’t be disturbed. I asked her to take me to the store for some paper. She said “No, get some from Joe.” I told her that Joe hid his stash and I would like to finish my homework. Still, Mama said, “No!!!”

I wanted to walk to the store but I knew if did that it would ruin the bottom of the cast. How could I get up to the store and back as quickly I can. Then It hit me ride your bike. Sneaking out of the house wasn’t easy. I slowly and carefully walked down the wooded steps into the basement, pushed my bike to the top of the driveway and off to the store I went. 

When I arrived at the store I bought the paper and hopped back on the bike and came home.  No sooner had I arrived I heard my name called by Mama. Mama was angry that I disobey her and anxious because my third grade teacher saw me riding my bike. She called my mother and told her that I was riding my bike with a cast on.  My mother had a perfect response, “Did she fell?” (Mama had trouble with some words in the English language).  My third grade teacher responded, “No. she didn’t.” Then my mother replied, “She is ok and has been cleared by the doctor to ride her bike with a cast on her leg.”     

Learning to Ride my Bike

I learned to ride a bike in the second grade. It sure was a daunting task for me to fulfill.  I was the only child in our family that had training wheels on the bike.  I had lots of balance issues due to my Cerebral Palsy. As I walked I would trip over my right foot quite frequently. 

  

 My father elevated the training wheels so I would have to learn to balance on the tires of the bike instead of relying on the training wheels. I always felt I was going to fall.  After several weeks of trying, my father took off the trainers and told me, “When I get home from work I want you to be riding that bike and there is no excuse would be accepted.  I tried valiantly to ride on the tires then relying on the trainers.

Many times in my life I have been told,  by teachers and or my own pears …..“You can’t do that.” It infuriated me at times in my life but, this time I fed into the fear of falling.  I figured that if I justified my statement to Papa that I might hurt myself.  I felt confident that he would believe me that I couldn’t learn to ride that bike.

Papa came home from work that evening. Soon after he arrived he asked me if I learned to ride the bike. I stated, “No, I didn’t because of my right foot….It won’t stay of the peddle. It slips off all the time.”  My father stated in no uncertain terms, “Do not use your handicap as a way out!! You will learn to that bike right now." 

Papa completely removed the training wheels and off we went.  After a several issues with balancing I  finally got the hang of it.  I had the most accelerating feeling. It was better than walking. I had more freedom and I was able to ride like my own peers.

 I realized at an early age that this exercise was immensely therapeutic. It helped stretched the Achilles tendon. It also made me feel like I could fly.

Making a Deal with My Father

Growing up with Cerebral Palsy was not the easiest thing to do especially during the early school years.  In the former years, I was told to write with my right hand to help me learn the fine motor co-ordination. This was a very daunting task to say the least because I have no eye hand coordination with the right hand. I would start out writing with my right hand but invariably I fell behind in taking notes, tests, and quizzes. I was very embarrassed when the teacher called me down during a quiz or test. I could hear my classmates snickering at me.  At times it brought me to tears.

  I do have gross motor control in right hand my arm and hand. I am able to hold big items, I used the right hand for opening and closing those heavy school doors and carrying my school books. I figured it would help strengthen my arm and hand.  This allowed me to use my left hand when I needed more fine motor control. If I was lucky enough, I wouldn’t get caught writing with my left hand. That was a rarity. Most of the time I did get caught and reprimanded. 

When I reached the fourth grade, I knew I was in trouble. We had to learn to take notes. The notes were already written on the board but my right hand couldn’t keep up with the other students.  I was upset with myself.  That afternoon after school, I sat at my desk in my room, trying to figure out a way to appease everyone. Finally, after an hour I came up with a perfect solution.

My father, had come home early that afternoon. I hesitated at first until I figured out what I was going to say to him. When I finally got up the nerve to confront Papa, I went to his office and asked to speak with him concerning “writing with my right hand.”

I said, “I really understand why I should be writing with my right hand. But I find it difficult to keep up. I will make a deal with you. If you let me write with my left hand during school, I will do all my homework with my right hand. I can take my time writing and to perfecting my handwriting.”

After presenting my case to him, there was complete silence from both of us.  I sat nervously waiting his response.  Finally, Papa responded.  It was slow and deliberate.  “I see you have thought this challenge out and figured out how to placate everyone concerned.  “I will honor you request.”  I just looked at Papa with awe and was surprised by his concession.  you have really demonstrated to me that you can think out of the box and find a solution that would pacify the school teacher and your own parents.”

Who’s Watching my Watch

As a child and a young adult I wrestled with watches.  I always had to wear the watch on my left hand because my parents insisted I learn the fine motor coordination which I lacked in my right hand.  Sometimes it took an hour or more struggling to put that thing on.  Many times I just broke down a cried for myself. My Siblings didn’t understand why it was so important for me wear the Dumb watch on my left hand. Comments were made by the boys, “Can’t you do it yourself?” The Girls just didn’t have time to buckle a watch band. I really felt abandoned when I needed help. I did it mainly because Papa said so!!!!

But, as the years passed, I realized that I needed to be happy with what I had, so, I resorted to wearing it on my right wrist instead of wearing it on my left one.  I have been doing that ever since before I acquired a  wrist Fitbit. . . . .

 I have been using a “Fitbit” to encourage myself to walk on a daily basis. This particular style of “Fitbit” clipped onto my jean pocket.  I had it for 2 months  then  I lost it.  I felt angry with myself and ended up buying another one.

Last week I was working on Joe’s quilt sewing the binding onto the quilt by machine so I could finally finish it.  While I wrestled with the quilt, unbeknownst to me, the heavy  quilt on my lap had pulled the second “Fitbit” off of my jeans.  I looked every where for three days.  I just didn’t understand where it had gone.  Robbie, my dear husband, suggested I get one that is worn on the wrist.  I was not really keen on it.  I was afraid I would experience the same problems as I did as a teenager.  But, I figured I could try the wrist version and see if it works.

After a couple of days I took his suggestion. I tried one on in Wal-Mart but I didn’t like the way the strap buckled. The strap buckled from the inside. My right hand didn’t have the strength or dexterity to snap it closed.  The right hand couldn’t handle and because of that type of strap I considered “Fitbit” that attached to your clothes.  I thought,  “No, not again! I don’t want to lose it again!”

So, I went home and started looking on the internet. I found one that had a normal wrist strap like a wrist watch. I called Best Buy and asked if they had any in stock. The service representative stated, “We do “price match” and he gave me the price that Wal-Mart quoted.  Another salesman installed it onto my phone.  I asked him to set it so I could use the Fitbit on my non-dominant hand.  I seemed to be working fine. I thought I was swinging arm as normal as my left arm does but, alas, I realized that I was not swinging the arm through the gait as normal as the left hand did  Not all my steps were not counted. I was oh so disappointed. I almost took it back.

The strap on this model looked and acted like a regular watch strap. I racked my brain trying to figure out how I could latch this watch band by myself. When I asked my husband he acted just like my brothers did when I was younger.  That really stung, but he didn’t realize he hurt my feelings. Well, that is par for the course. 

In the meantime, I was working on another quilt and still trying to figure out how I could put this device on my left wrist.  Then, it hit me. The band has a rectangle slot.  So I cut a piece of material the width of the hole and sew it into a band.  I pulled the band through the hole and then through the buckle.  I patiently pushed the stopper though the rectangular hole with my right index finger.

Viola!  “I did it myself."  Robbie, my husband, was surprise and proud that I could find a method that works.  Afterwards, I walked the perimeter of the house and chanted, “   I did it ….. I did it!"